Relax

First, I just want to let you know that when you see a little asterisk or number after a word or name, you can find more info in the Notes section. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming…

One of the ways I’ve been preparing for my trip to Whistler in August is by doing hip opening exercises. Gotta be able to swing that leg up and over a horse’s back to ride. And after time in the saddle, my hips are one of the places I feel it most. Plus, sore hips are the leading cause of those embarrassing moments when I let out a grunt getting up from my office chair.

So, what does hip opening involve? Jokes about dinner at a nice restaurant aside (okay, half-jokes), hip opening moves require arranging your legs in unnatural ways to stretch connective tissue you didn’t know existed and then holding each pose for minutes at a time. The experience ranges from feeling very awkward to slightly scary. Also, these poses can strip all your dignity away (Happy Baby, I’m talking about you). And many use props, like blocks or a strap.

I know, you’re dying to try it. Here’s another selling point: the process can rile my snark. I watch these videos^* to guide me, and the instructor speaks in a calm and reasonable manner while saying things like “This pose is called Double Reverse Lightning Bolt with Half Scissor Twist. In the 16^th century it was used to determine whether someone was guilty of witchcraft. For this pose you’ll need some blocks, a few pillows, and a stool.” And a rope. How do you tie a noose?

The aggravation is worst when I’m rushing around, teeth clenched and shoulders tensed like I’m leaning into the wind. Each set of exercises lasts no more than twenty minutes. I know this going in, and twenty minutes is nothing. I can waste that scrolling through pictures of puppies on Instagram without even knowing it. When I’m busy with the Very Important Things on my to do list, though, twenty minutes sounds like an insane amount of time to spend still.

But hip opening exercises are also on the To Do list, so I get out the mat and manage to configure my limbs as instructed. I lean into the stretch and cannot believe how inflexible I’ve gotten. I’m in Pigeon pose straddling a pillow, my hands resting on blocks next to my hips. As a kid I took gymnastics and doing full butt-cheek-on-the-floor splits was easy for me. When I learned that adults became less limber as they aged, I swore I would keep stretching through the years so I would never get creaky and stiff. What happened to that plan?

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” the instructor advises. I want to force it, I really do. Ouch. “Better to maintain a less intense stretch for the entire time than to push too hard and have to stop.” Copy that. I ease up. The instructor reminds me to breathe slowly, exhaling twice as long and audibly, through a partially closed throat. This feels ridiculous at first, an added indignity. “Remember,” he intones, “relaxed muscles are more flexible.” I exhale, sounding like a tea kettle before it whistles. After a couple minutes, the strain subsides. I knock the blocks aside and remove the pillow. My butt cheek rests on the floor.